


i may be bad but i'm perfectly good at it

by haloud



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sex, Praise Kink, Rimming, not like...in a hardcore way tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-02 21:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: Michael is bored, and when Michael gets bored he gets ideas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from rihanna's s&m lol *fingerguns*
> 
> this fic is not for redistribution without my express permission

“Got any threes?”

Alex glares over the top of his hand, and Michael gives him his smuggest smirk back.

“So you’re telling me,” Alex says lightly, drumming his fingers on the pockmarked table, “That you have spent half your natural life hopping from bar to bar, but the only game you know is Go Fish.”

“I didn’t say that’s the only game I know how to _play. _I said it’s the only game I’ll play with _you. _Got any fives?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Means I’m saving fives.”

“Guerin.”

The warning is clear in Alex’s voice, and Michael has to stop himself from laughing out loud and pissing him off for real—he wants to draw out the giddy moment further, the building of energy between them, until it snaps like a rubber band stinging against Michael’s skin.

It’s just been the two of them, for _hours _now, and all that time Alex has refused, refused to so much as touch him, talking about the likelihood of being interrupted, about not wanting to mess up the sheets, about all these other excuses that had Michael pouting earlier in the day, but now that it’s been almost the whole day just the two of them together without Alex touching him at all, he’s buzzing in his own skin, and if he has to play with fire to get it _out, _then that’s what he’ll do.

“Just saying, I’m not playing anything with stakes against you because I know you’d cheat to win—”

“_I’d _cheat? You literally just skipped my turn. In _Go Fish._”

“That’s not cheating; I’m just making sure you’re paying attention.”

“It’s literally the definition of cheating. And counting cards isn’t—it’s not my fault if the people I’m playing with can’t keep up.”

“So you’re saying you don’t have any fives?”

Alex puts his cards down on the table and folds his hands over them. He levels his gaze at Michael, and Michael blinks at him for a second—then he deliberately, openly, drops his eyes from Alex’s, because it’s even better when he’s not looking; it makes Alex’s eyes on him feel even heavier, like a caress, like a hand heavy and tight on the scruff of his neck.

He’s grinning by the time Alex gets to his feet; he licks his lips as Alex rounds the table; his cock starts hardening just from the delicious threat in Alex’s deliberate steps, his perfect posture. He starts to rise from his seat, but before can stand, Alex’s hand is fisted in his hair, jerking him to the side, toward the bed; Michael stumbles along with him, laughing loud and bright, and he would throw himself down on the mattress as soon as he’s close enough, but he doesn’t _want _to pull away from the tugging pressure-pain radiating from his scalp all the way down his spine. When Alex does let go to jerk Michael’s shirt over his head, when he goes face down, put there by Alex’s firm hands, he moans for the loss of it as much as much as the promise of the new position.

“Do we need practice at asking nicely for the things we want?” Alex mocks.

But Michael, Michael can _show _him how nice he can ask for things. He arches his back deep, those muscles stretching and pulling and flexing, and he puts his ass in the air, and he _moans, _loud and theatric and demanding for Alex to put his hands on him.

“Greedy,” Alex says.

Michael moans again, even louder this time, instead of responding with words, and as punishment Alex pinches him hard on the thigh through his jeans. He_ is_ greedy. He wants it all; he doesn’t want to wait; the waiting is so mind numbing he can’t stand the buzzing in his brain and the fastest way to make it go away is to get Alex to do it for him.

And considering all that, what’s the fun in _asking? _

Michael grins, all teeth, against the pillow shoved in his face as Alex reaches around to unbutton his jeans—but instead of undressing him, Alex grips him firmly at the hips, hands just under the hem of his t-shirt, thumbs digging into the points of his hipbones just hard enough to hurt nice and deep. That’s good too. Everything about Alex is so _good. _How’s he supposed to resist, when they’ve been cooped up together all day?

“What did I tell you the _first _time you suggested this as a way to pass the time? I know you were listening, because you would have kept arguing instead of trying to provoke me into doing what you want.”

Michael rolls his head to the side slightly, frees his mouth to say, “We don’t know when the others will be back, Guerin. You don’t know where these sheets have been, Guerin. Do you really want your entire family seeing your bare—”

“That’s enough.” Alex seizes him by the curls again and shoves his face back into the pillow. His weight makes the mattress dip to the side, and Michael tries to curl into it, only for Alex to roughly put him back in position again.

“Nnnnnh,” Michael sighs as Alex leans his weight on top of him, hands pressing into the curve of his back, the whole delicious solidness of him making Michael just _melt. _

“You’re incorrigible,” Alex says, and then he lays into Michael with double sensations that make him shiver, make his cock pulse where it’s trapped against the front of his jeans—he brushes the hair off the back of Michael’s neck so gently, then attacks him with lips and teeth leaving hot, wet bruising right there at the nape of his neck—and Michael shudders, arches back against him, only for Alex to lean in hard again and force his back to bend down.

“You love it,” Michael moans, pushing back up into those hands again.

Alex laughs, low and warm and it makes Michael go all shivery, makes him stop struggling at all. Alex says “Hmm, I do. I love it when you think you’re asking for something and have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Nn?”

“I think,” he moves, lifts himself off Michael’s back, and Michael grumbles unhappily at the chill that rushes in without the body heat all against him. “Since I’m doing this for you, you can do something for me.”

He lays his hands lightly against Michael’s ass, and Michael bites down a mouthful of pillow to muffle yet another moan coming out deep-throated and embarrassingly loud considering that he’s _barely _been touched. But Alex curves his fingers to slip just under the waistband of Michael’s jeans, and the slight scrape of his short fingernails is so sensitizing Michael can’t help himself, can’t do anything other than cry out and all but beg for more. This is what he _needed—_he wasn’t made for sitting around doing nothing; his brain gets going too fast and too tight and now _finally—_

_Anything, anything, _he tries to say with his body, with the tilt of his hips and the shaking of his head—and Alex, as always, gorgeous, fuckin’—perfect—Alex understands him right away.

“Good; you’re so good. Even though you’ve been a shit all afternoon. You just want to be good for me, don’t you, Michael?”

His cock gives another desperate, trapped throb, and he garbles out a _yes, _rubbing his rough cheek against the sheets. A spot of drool has already formed on the pillowcase, and, shakily, Michael brings a hand up to rub at his wet mouth—but Alex intercepts him, lacing their fingers together to pin Michael’s hand to the bed, using his other hand to grip Michael’s chin, turning his head at a sharp angle so they can kiss, Alex licking inside of his mouth to taste him, to devour him, and Michael opens up to let him in, to devour him back in turn, pushing his hips up into the cradle of Alex’s hips, rubbing back against the hard line of Alex’s cock.

Alex hums in response, hums right into Michael’s mouth, biting his lower lip as he pulls back; Michael swipes his tongue across the sting he leaves behind.

“Here’s what you’re going to do for me,” Alex says, “You’re going to hold still while I get myself off, and you’re going to thank me. And _you’re _not going to come,” he slides his hand through the trail of hair leading to Michael’s groin to press the heel of his palm against the hard, twitching line of his cock, “Not until I give the word. Which won’t be until later—won’t be until we’re _actually _alone and I have all the time I need to take you apart the way you need.”

Michael’s eyelashes flutter. Alex can’t—he can’t possibly mean it, not when Michael is already so desperate just from the touch of his hand and the sound of his voice, but—but of _course _he means it, because a part of Michael knew from the start, knew this was what he would get and what he was asking for.

“How’s that sound?” Alex asks.

All Michael can do in response is whine, unable to say the words, not until—

“Words.”

Alex admonishes him, demands more of him, and Michael replies—

“_Yes, _Alex, oh god, _please, _anything—”

“Good. Very good.”

He just pants in response to the praise, his dick twitching again, pulsing mercilessly as Alex oh-so-gently works his jeans down over the curve of his ass; at the sound of Alex undoing his own zipper, Michael rolls his hips up and back, offering himself up.

The first stroke of Alex’s cock between his thighs nearly has him jumping out of his skin. Somehow it’s always—whenever they do it like this, it’s like every time Michael _forgets, _somehow, how intimate it is, how it’s just like when Alex is inside him except _different, _because instead of fucking himself back, chasing the fullness and _rightness _of it, he has to hold his thighs tight together and lie there and _take _it, and it’s so much harder, but he’ll try—because that’s what Alex said—

It’s hot, though, and rough and—Michael likes the roughness, the friction burn of skin on skin, but then Alex slicks the way with his spit and that’s good too, filthy as it is. The rougher touch, the rubbing sting of Alex’s open zipper against his ass and the backs of his thighs: it’s just as good, just as torturous, and Michael grunts with every pass of Alex’s cock through the apex of his thighs. Precum beads from the head of his cock and slides down his shaft; he’s tortured by Alex’s cock rubbing right alongside his, but he has to hold back, to be good.

After minutes, after long minutes of clenching and unclenching his fists in the sheets so hard they come off at the corners, after forcing himself not to roll with the shuddering of his spine, after staying so still just like Alex told him, Alex pulls away to arch up over him, to strip his own cock forcefully as he chases his release, and Michael’s mouth falls open hungrily at the sound of it, and he hopes—and Alex delivers, feeding him two of his fingers to swallow around, to focus on the taste of his hand and the texture of that skin against his tongue, instead of the ache between his legs.

Alex huffs, and with a low moan he releases, come splashing hot against Michael’s lower back, and he shudders again, one last time, at the sensation. Alex pants above him for a moment longer, until he’s pressing against him again, kissing his neck and his shoulders and laughing a little breathlessly against his skin as his strong hands circle Michael’s biceps and encourage him to roll onto his side so Alex can get a good look at his face, which Michael is sure is flushed bright red, his eyes glassy, his mouth bitten and bee-stung. Alex must like what he sees, because something feral creeps into his grin as he kisses him again, thorough and deep.

God, Michael is drowsy, all of the sudden, even though his balls ache and he doesn’t _want _to—stop, and he can’t stop torturing himself with thoughts of _later. _Alex is stroking his back nice and firm so it’s almost a massage, and Michael sighs with contentment, letting his eyes fall shut.

“When the others get back and this whole place smells like sex, you know everyone will accurately blame you, right.”

Alex’s tone is wry and unruffled, but his hands are still in motion, petting Michael’s skin, gone so soft and blazing-hot from the combined heat of the two of them together, massaging his own come into Michael right across his lower back where he claimed him—and that thought, the thought of being _possessed _like that makes him feel so swollen and whole inside he can hardly stand it, can hardly breathe around it. He’s still hard and aching, but that ache fades into the background, secondary to the warmth Alex bathes him in.

He has to do something to release all this tension inside him so, laughing breathlessly, Michael shoves at Alex’s face and wiggles an inch or so across the sheets. “Fuck you. Open a window.”

“You open it. You’re the one who got us into this…mess.”

Michael groans dramatically and rolls over, reaching his arm out towards the windowsill, while Alex cackles behind him. He gets as far as lifting his shoulders off the bed before Alex’s arm comes down solidly across his chest, pinning him down again.

“Open it from here,” he says, running his teeth along the shell of Michael’s ear, teasing that sensitive skin. “I’m not letting you get away.”

Michael purrs, groping for the window latch with his mind. The window opens, and Michael grins as a slight breeze plays over his skin, cooling the sweat still beaded on his body. He settles back into Alex’s chest, and Alex pulls the sheet up to cover them.

He drops a kiss to the top of Michael’s head. Michael could fall asleep like this, he really could, despite the need to get up, to shower and change his clothes; but he stays awake and stays still, not willing to move, basking in the feeling of Alex’s hands on him, the feeling of being _his_, and the sweetness of lying beside him.


	2. Chapter 2

The second they walk through the door, stiff and sore from hotel beds and hours of traveling, Michael drapes himself onto Alex’s back, burying his nose into the crook of his neck and burrowing in.

“Home sweet home,” he purrs, and he punctuates it with a brazen lick right to Alex’s pulse, savoring the salt and smell of his skin.

Alex laughs and leans his weight back into Michael’s arms, and Michael does him the favor of telekinetically taking their bags and putting them by the bedroom door, out of the way of the main walkway.

“You’re pretty eager considering you’ve already had that attitude backfire on you once today,” Alex says, reaching behind him to scruff his hand through Michael’s soft hair. Just to tease him, Michael tries to pull back, only for that hand to turn into a fist, tugging at the roots of his curls and keeping his face pressed into the side of his neck, and Michael makes a happy noise and snuggles in again, pressing a line of closed-mouth kisses down to his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t torture me like that _again_, would you?” Michael pouts, wrapping his arm around Alex’s middle and rucking his shirt up just slightly so he can rest his palm to Alex’s smooth stomach, wiggling his pinky finger under the waistband of Alex’s jeans. He’s hard already, pressed up against Alex’s ass, still so keyed up from earlier.

“I think you should be asking yourself that question, because you absolutely know the answer.”

“Mmmm, I love scary Alex.”

“Uh-huh. Well, Alex needs a shower before you’re getting anything out of him.”

Michael sticks to him like a burr regardless, plastering himself to Alex’s side whenever he stands still, clinging to his hand or to his shirt all the way to the bedroom; then he sits behind him, rolling his forehead into the hollow between his shoulder blades, waiting for him to finish caring for his leg.

Normally, Alex hates to be carried, but just for tonight he makes an exception, letting Michael carry him on his back to the shower. It satisfies some deep, mostly-hidden need in Michael’s bones—it always lingers, the need to take care of everyone around him with his heart and soul and body, and it’s never more satisfied than when he’s doing things for Alex, whether big or small. Alex even lets him into the shower with him, which is also a rarity—

(“The two of us can stand showering in shifts, Guerin, more than the planet can stand the amount of water we’d waste getting handsy with each other.”)

\--And he takes full advantage of the opportunity, sitting on the shower floor with his face tipped back into the spray while Alex washes his hair, all loose and boneless, moaning in pure pleasure every time Alex digs his fingertips into his scalp. Once he’s clean he tries to return the orgasmic favor by taking Alex’s cock down his throat to the hilt, but Alex tugs him away whining before he gets close to coming. He has to content himself with all the rest of Alex’s skin, chasing droplets of water with his tongue. Everything inside him all bundled up and needy, and all he wants is to _seesmelltouchtastefeel _Alex’s skin on his. He’s hard again—or still—or at last—it all blends together in a blur of wanting Alex.

More out of expediency than accuracy, Alex declares the both of them clean enough and shuts the water off. Michael leans out of the shower to grab a towel and takes it on himself to see to Alex, rubbing him down thoroughly while Alex plays with his dripping-wet curls. Alex takes the towel from him when he’s done and turns it back on him, Michael kneeling once more between his knees while he works. He wants to put his head on Alex’s thigh and just rest there, but they have to get out of the shower, get somewhere more comfortable. Where Alex can “take his time.” Michael’s cock throbs painfully at the memory of Alex’s promise, but even without being told, he hasn’t touched it once since Alex came on his back earlier that day, keeping himself on edge of arousal for hours.

Alex lets him carry him back to the bedroom, instructing him to put him on the bed. Once there, he fetches the lube from the bedside drawer and places it beside him, then he fixes Michael with his gaze.

“Come here.”

Michael comes, climbing onto the bed and moving until he’s kneeling in between Alex’s knees, his arms resting on Alex’s shoulders, so close he can feel the whisper of Alex’s breath across his skin, so close he doesn’t know how not to be kissing him.

While Michael waits, Alex makes a show of slicking up his fingers, and Michael watches each slow, exaggerated motion with greedy eyes, aching for him, to be filled by him, to hear the word and lay down and let Alex inside.

“Right here.”

Alex pats the bed beside him with his dry hand, and Michael goes where he’s told. He shudders at the first whisper-soft touch of fingers in the dip of his lower back, skimming down to the curve of his ass; he whimpers as that delicate touch skims back up. Michael likes—he likes everything _hard, _everything with meaning. When it’s delicate it feels too much like it isn’t there at all.

It’s different, though, with Alex. Of course. With Alex the delicate touch is always just prelude to something more, something big enough and real enough to smooth out all his roughest edges. Alex lays his heavy, warm hand right at the base of Michael’s spine, the tip of one finger just barely dipping into the crease, and that’s when Michael opens his mouth and moans, a trembling, surrendering thing.

“Why don’t you tell me,” Alex says as that hand starts to _inch _lower, “some of what you had on your mind on our way back home.”

“You.”

“I was taking that for granted, actually.” Alex leans down to lightly kiss the curve of Michael’s shoulder, and Michael can feel the shape of his smile. Alex says, sitting back up, “Be more specific.”

“I thought about you. Ev—everything about you,” Michael says, voice tripping over itself as Alex spreads his cheeks with both hands.

“Sweet, but I still need more detail.”

“Your hands, mostly. Strong. Love the way you touch me.”

“And how is that?”

“Ah—”

Alex rests his thumb over Michael’s hole, applying pressure, but not nearly enough to penetrate, even as he rolls it in little massaging circles. Michael feels that muscle flex under the attention, and his face flushes so hot he has to shift to rub it to a new patch of sheets that hasn’t yet been lit up by the heat of his body.

“Ha—” Michael huffs again, then says, “Ahn—like you own me, like I’m yours—”

“And you are, aren’t you.”

“_Yes,” _he replies, even though the way Alex said it it wasn’t even a question. He’s rewarded with the feeling of that single digit pressing inside, just inside his rim, but even that tiny stretch has him clenching a pitiful mewl behind his teeth and canting his hips back for more.

“What else did you think about?”

Alex drags his thumb in and out once or twice; pulls it out; replaces it with his first finger. It isn’t nearly thick enough, and Michael lets him know with a whine and a muffled _more. _The lube has warmed up enough from contact with Alex’s skin that there’s nothing to make Michael jump, to make his muscles clench, there’s just the slow, coaxing opening up of Alex’s hand.

“Answer me.”

“Ghhh.”

The second finger slides in alongside the first, and Michael starts to rock with the slow stroking against his walls, breath stuttering and grunting every time those fingers spread inside him.

“Answer me or I stop.”

“Nnn--! It was—it was your mouth too, so much, love the way it looks when you’re talking, love the way it _feels—” _

Alex hasn’t touched his prostate yet, and Michael shakes, half in anticipation, half in breathless gratitude that he isn’t, that Michael can still _think _enough to answer Alex’s questions instead of being reduced to helpless moaning.

“You’re doing so good,” Alex says, and those words send a bolt of lightning from Michael’s brain to his cock hanging dripping and untouched between his spread legs, hitting every nerve in between. Alex adds a third finger, finally stretching Michael’s rim to a point that lets him _focus _on the sore physicality of it all, on the helpless mindlessness. When all three fingers spread inside him, his mouth falls open involuntarily on a grateful, worshipping sound.

He’s so—so sensitive. His cock is soaking wet from pre welling up and beading down his shaft; he’s aching everywhere between his legs, so needy for a hand around his cock he’s prepared to beg, but not—not _yet. _He isn’t ready yet for this to be over, for the ache building up all over him, inside him, to release, he wants to hold it for longer, until he _shuts down _and his body takes over for him.

“One more thing. Tell me one more thing that kept that big brain of yours busy this afternoon.” Alex punctuates this order with an increase in speed, a new _inandout _motion that means Michael has to swallow a mouthful of drool before he can respond.

“Your _cock, _fuck, you _know _that’s what it is,_” _he finally garbles, and Alex lets out a delighted laugh and leans in to lay hot, open-mouthed kisses in the small of Michael’s back. He rests his mouth there, tongue drawing little patterns on velvety skin.

Michael’s wet eyes fall shut, the sensation is so tender and sweet.

Alex’s mouth stills. “Mmm. Michael?”

“Nn.”

“Would you say two out of three’s not bad?”

Whatever Michael would have said disappears with a shocked _wail. _Liquid hot, silky soft, Alex’s tongue laves across the red outside of his hole, and that’s just the first touch. It’s followed up by a litany of licks and stabbing thrusts and teasing, sucking kisses against that raw muscle, all too hot, all too fucking good, Michael can’t think, can’t do anything but wave and push his hips _back_ looking for _more. _His hand is tugging in his own hair while the other flails out flat on the bed, all full of energy and there’s only one place for it to go, and it’s not a _loss _of control, exactly, that has him throwing clothes and pillows across the room when Alex finally targets his prostate with firm, rolling pressure, it’s just more than what Michael can _contain, _just like his chest is too full-up from his heartbeat and panting breathing to restrain any of the sobs of pleasure falling out of his mouth—

He can’t so much as whimper, though, when he finally comes, untouched, from the accumulated too muchness of _Alex, _from the stroke of his tongue, from the relentless loving on his prostate, from barely-there scrape of stubble on Michael’s most vulnerable skin and from the buzz of his laughter every time Michael twitches pitifully in his grasp.

In the aftermath he’s left shaking and _wiped. _He groans when Alex pulls his hand away—overstimulated but still missing the heavy fullness of something inside. Boneless and pliant, he lets Alex position him on his side—but he whines insistently when Alex reaches down to jerk himself off, knocking Alex’s hand aside so he can do it himself, marshalling his coordination to bring him quickly to a release that splashes across Michael’s front this time, in molten lines across his chest and throat. In an absent moment as Alex turns away to find something to wipe them off with, Michael runs a finger through it just to lick it off and swallow it down.

Once they’ve gotten a perfunctory wipe-down, Alex settles down beside him, face-to-face, and captures his mouth in a slow, soft kiss that stretches out for minutes and minutes, as his brain comes back online, as he resettles in his bones.

Eventually, their mouths pull apart, and Michael takes a second just to revel in the glitter of Alex’s eyes made deep and black by the half-light of the room and the dilation of his pupils.

“You’re perfect,” Alex murmurs, and he reaches down between them to lift one of Michael’s hands and kiss his knuckles.

“I’ll say,” Michael replies, smug and a proud ruiner of atmospheres, “I got a three out of three after all. Natural hat trick, baby.”

Alex’s laughter takes him so by surprise he can barely breathe, and he surges forward to bury it into Michael’s chest, holding them tightly together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't leave poor michael hanging too long, now could I?


End file.
